There wouldn’t be a passerby for quite some time—at least I hoped not.
“Thank you,” I said to the fool who’d shared their privacy, and then I walked on through.
I knew where I was headed. My pace was quick and determined, ensuring I stayed on the edges of the course and out of view of the stragglers of golfers in the distance. Every single moment I could delay people identifying me as the culprit behind this attack was a tick for our odds of managing to reach the UK.
I couldn’t take a golf cart, but I’d been walking no more than ten minutes when the two pieces of shit appeared on the horizon. I slowed down my pace, being more sure than ever to keep hidden as I approached. They were talking heatedly. I could see the waving of their arms, golf clearly the last thing on their minds.
I knew then, beyond all doubt, that they were aware Reverend Lynch had encountered some… difficulties.
I kept to the rough as I walked, heart thumping and blood ice cold and burning bright with the promise of vengeance. My gun was aching to fire and my fingers were aching to set the bullets free, right into the guts of them.
I slipped on my leather gloves and was already holding the gun when I appeared in view. They were talking so intently that they didn’t notice me until I was close enough that they could hear me clear my throat.
Both sick fucks jumped a mile when they saw me there, starting backwards once they registered it was me.
Hardwick stepped away from Lionel Constantine, clearly happy to abandon him for his demise. So much for friendship and loyalty. He was clearly ready to run, his hands held up in front of him as I stepped up closer.
“This is between you two,” he told me. “I’ll leave you to your family dispute and head on to the next hole.”
“Get the hell fucking back here,” I snarled at him. “This has plenty to do with the both of you, you disgusting piece of shit.”
I watched his mind whirring. I smirked as I saw the pieces come together for him, while Lionel Constantine was still staring on in mute horror.
“You’re attacking the fellowship, yes?” Hardwick announced, his wavering voice scared enough to set my heart alight. “The fellowship has nothing against the Morellis, I can assure you of that.”
“This isn’t about the fucking Morellis,” I told him with a vicious smile. “This is to do with Elaine.”
“Elaine?!” Hardwick gasped. “You mean Elaine Constantine?”
That’s when Lionel found his voice. “You just killed Elaine Constantine,” he said, and there wasn’t even the slightest hint of anger in his voice. “What the fuck has that got to do with coming after the fellowship?”
I laughed to myself at their ridiculous attempt at feigning ignorance.
“You know exactly what coming after the fellowship has to do with Elaine Constantine,” I told them. “You fucking abused Elaine Constantine when she was a pure little girl, you sick cunts.”
I pointed the gun at them, silencer already in place. Their shock was evident, but not nearly so evident as their fear. They were absolutely petrified. Their own doom looming loud and clear.
“What the hell are you doing?” Lionel said. “Like you give a fuck about Elaine.”
“I love your beautiful angel of a niece,” I told him. “Just be grateful I don’t have longer to make you suffer even more for your crimes.”
His eyes were open right on mine when I pulled the trigger. One lonely bullet, right in his face.
He was gone. Hardwick started stumbling, trying to run. The sad, bloated prick didn’t get very far before I was up and at him, tearing him backwards and spinning him to face the corpse I’d just landed into hell.
“No!” he cried out as I forced the gun in his hand and grasped his fingers around it. He fought, but I was stronger. His hand was clutching the gun when I turned it around and pressed the barrel up against his temple.
“Please,” he begged me, squirming like a slug in my arms. “Please, no!”
“Goodnight, motherfucker,” I hissed, and then I shot him.
Only I didn’t shoot him, did I? It was his finger on the trigger.
The sad, miserable fucker had shot himself. Appeared to the onlooker that he’d shot Lionel Constantine before blowing himself away, too.
Oh, the bliss of inflicting that much hurt. I was back in my school days again, enjoying the suffering. Only this was better. More fulfilling than